


Focus

by LSDAndKizuki



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Implied/references to torture, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7012060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSDAndKizuki/pseuds/LSDAndKizuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Theon gets a panic attack and Ramsay tries to soothe him. </p><p>Theon just needs something to focus on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Focus

“Have you been stealing from me again, Reek?”

He slid it terrifyingly into conversation, a hidden thorn in the down. There was always conversation, or at least one half of it; Ramsay was talkative and energetic when he was not enraged or depressed. He would go on and on, talking with the same mild pleasure about a delicious pie they had for lunch, or a particularly loud hunting victim. It was easy for Reek to tune it out, at the same time as responding when needed: “Oh, yes, master. Don’t know, master. Of course, master.”

Reek had been left alone for a long time in the dark. He could not say whether it was days or months, but each second had crawled by like a century with no food, no light, no human company. When Ramsay had finally cracked open the big bolted door, a blurry crimson streak to Reek’s tear-blocked eyes, he couldn’t remember seeing so relieving a sight. The events had gone hazy in his memory, but he could recall breaking down at Ramsay’s feet and begging him not to leave him in the dark ever again. He remembered Ramsay’s fingers entwined in his matted hair, delicate but sturdy. And the words _no one likes a beggar, Reek._

And now. _“Have you been stealing from me again, Reek?”_ He finally understood why he had been left so. This was the punishment for theft. It had only been a tiny morsel of bread, sneaked off the edge of the dining table – he was serving wine for some of Ramsay’s friends at the time, he remembered – and Ramsay had never mentioned it. How could he have thought he would let him get away with it? To steal from the hand that fed him, what greater betrayal was there? He choked in a breath. _Have you been stealing? Again? Reek? Stealing again?_

But… He _didn’t._ He couldn’t have. He was only released from the dark so recently.

“No,” Reek’s tongue moved of its own accord, as the horror of it struck him. He was doomed to the dark once more, and this time, Ramsay would not be so forgiving as to let him out.

He looked up from his serving cup to Ramsay’s face. The man was not smiling, and Reek felt an odd jolt inside. Ramsay’s lips were moving now, he could see that, but he couldn’t hear the words. They seemed to be blocked, or drowned out by a scream in his head that said, _he’s going to put you back. He’s going to put you back in the dark. He’s going to put you back in the dark and he’ll never let you out._

He was rooted to the spot, his tongue was locked in place, and he could not breathe.

Something that helped him to muscle through the mess was focussing. He would take a thought – usually _My name is Reek –_ or a single object, and let that be the default for his consciousness, a base camp for the terrifying journeys his mind took. Now, the base seemed to have disappeared. He could not remember what he had been focussing on before, and the tangle in his head was not allowing for anything solid now; it was crumbling, it was melting down, it was dying.

The wine cup fell to the floor from his hands, and the clatter restarted a few senses.

 _“Reek?_ What’s happening?”

Ramsay’s voice. Ramsay, who would – oh, _no –_

“Reek, calm down. I just asked you a question.” There was anger in the tone, even though his face was invisible, and there were fleshy hands around his wrists. Reek felt the silver ring on his master’s left hand dig insistently into his skin. He still could not seem to breathe.

“Stop _crying,_ damn it… Open your eyes, Reek. Look at me.” An order, undeniably. Reek opened his eyes. The sting in them surprised him, before he remembered Ramsay’s other order. _I’m crying? He hates it when I cry. I stopped doing that long ago, because he hates it…_

 _“Please,”_ again, his mouth was working for someone else, because hadn’t Ramsay ordered him to stop begging – “I’m sorry, please, don’t send me back there, not to the dark, I’ll, I’ll die, please…”

“Stop that. You know I hate that, Reek. Come on, calm down.”

He _couldn’t._ Why was Ramsay always ordering him to do things beyond his power?

“That’s it, Reek. Eyes on me, now.” Two ice eyes stared greyly at him. “You’re not breathing. Breathe, Reek!” The hands were on his cheeks now, and their coldness seemed to send a hook into Reek’s thought-process, tethering it bit by bit to earth. “Slowly, now. You can do it.”

The words awakened a pink memory, one with the faces scribbled out, and the names rotted away, but the sounds of the words still clear as day: _Come on… You can do it… Breathe, that’s it, in, out, in, out, in, out…_ He remembered the panic causing his vision to fail him, leaving him only with the voice of a child, a strong-armed, red-haired child, to guide him through it. All he had to do was follow instructions, as always. _You’re doing it, well done. That’s it! That’s it, Th-_

No. Ramsay was looking at him, every line on his face in acerbic detail, etching a picture of concern. He gave Reek an experimental slap on the cheek. “Are you with me now?” The pounding of his heart was slowing. The fear rampaged on in his mind, but his lungs seemed to be working. He nodded. “You were asking about the dark, Reek. Are you afraid of the dark?”

There was no point in lying. “Yes, master,” he whispered.

“Well,” Ramsay said in a soft voice, curling a tendril of Reek’s hair around his finger, “There is nothing to be afraid of, is there? Look around us.”

Had the world ever seemed so bright? It was a black castle in and out, but light poured in through its every orifice, bathing the room and filling Reek’s senses. He couldn’t remember why he might have ever feared the dark in the first place. He sank into a warm embrace, thankful and reverent. Ramsay whispered into his ear. “You needn’t be afraid, dear Reek. You get distracted, that’s all. You just need to focus.” Wine crawled across the stones from the fallen cup, spreading warmth into the worn heels of Reek’s feet. “Focus on me. Any time you should have fear, focus on me.”

_Focus on me, Theon._

Reek smiled at the voices of child, of brother, of master. “Yes.” Doubt would return. Fear would return, but for now there was nothing but the warmth of protection on which to focus, nothing but the light in which to drown.


End file.
